


Eye for an Eye

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Mental Breakdown, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, like i mean really alternate universe, not ooc though, patrick is richie's cousin in this i'm so sorry it's just for the plot, richie is in a gang but he doesn't want to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Richie is forced into his cousin's gang, he does everything he can to survive. When two years pass and he finally confesses to his best friend Stanley Uris, everything falls apart. He is sent on a life changing task that ends up being much, much more than it seems.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Eye for an Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow um, let me start out by thanking everyone who supported me while writing this, this never would have happened without you. The first person who i would like to thank is duha for being such an amazing support system whenever I feel insecure about my writing. She's been such an amazing help and keeps me motivated whenever I feel like giving up. also, a huge thank you to georgie for my other support system whenever I get writer's block and need someone to kick me in the ass. she's been so amazing and i love her very very much. But a huge HUGE thank you to isa for being the literal love of my life and proof reading it for me because my mind could not possibly take it! huge thank you to each and every one of you goofs ilyasm none of this ever would have happened without you!

Richie never wanted it to come to this. Everything was simple when he was just a little kid. If you asked him what changed, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. As complicated as the story was, it was also quite simple. On certain nights, Richie would stare up at his ceiling wondering exactly where everything went wrong. He had a good idea of where it all went wrong, but maybe that was just his insecurities talking.

Whenever his friends asked him what he was up to nowadays, he would lie through his gritted teeth, telling them he was a clerk at the local Home Depot. None of his friends ever went shopping there, so they never questioned it. What helped his lie was he had gotten a bit stronger since high school. While he didn’t have huge biceps and noticeable abs, he also wasn’t the scrawny tall kid that he used to be either.

The worst thing about his lie was he didn’t work. What he did was more of a lifestyle; a lifestyle that Richie hated. Whenever he got home late at night, he felt this heavy feeling in his chest, yet he felt so  _ empty. _ Richie wondered how it was even possible to feel such contrast feelings, but he did. The way Richie had described it to Mike was that he felt he couldn’t breathe; like there wasn’t enough air for him. He felt so  _ lonely. _

Mike had listened intently, thinking about what advice he should give his friend. He always thought everything he said through, and Richie loved that about him. He had opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, only to close it many times before he finally spoke.

Mike had told Richie that maybe his job wasn’t enough for him, that maybe he needed to do something else. Mike knew Richie had a lot of potential, there was not a doubt in his mind. He had always thought Richie would end up becoming a radio host or a stand up comedian, he could never see him working in fucking Home Depot. Richie listened to everything Mike had to say, and he was right about one thing: Richie needed to do something else. But he was wrong about his job “not being enough for him”. The truth was that Richie’s job was  _ too much _ for him.

Ever since he got caught up in shit, Richie knew he was in way over his head. Richie was never known as the ‘cool guy’ by anyone, he was known as the shy, smart kid who had a trashmouth on him. Richie never thought he would be where he is today, but he was and there was no going back. He was a changed person, and not for the better, but for the worst.

For a long time, Richie had strategized every single way he could get out of this lifestyle, only to ever conclude that he would die before he could escape it. He would stay up all night thinking of every possible punishment he would receive if he tried escaping this life. Eventually, he came to terms that this was his destiny: there was no other life for Richie Tozier.

Part of him knew that wasn’t true, that part knew he was too much of a marshmallow for what he was dragged into. But that part of him also knew that there was no escaping. All the logic inside of him screamed that he was stuck, that he got himself into this mess and now there was no way out.

Richie flopped onto his bed with a heavy sigh. His mind was going a hundred miles an hour and it exhausted him. This wasn’t new to him; getting home late after a stressful day of doing things that riddled him with anxiety and a sense of loss. He hadn’t eaten anything that day, and the nausea from today’s events only made his stomach churn violently, the annoying urge to crawl to the bathroom floor and heave his intestines out growing stronger by the second.

Richie shifted to a fetal position on the foot of his bed, not having the energy to fully get onto it. The words of Patrick on an infinite loop clouded his brain. It was times like these he wished he had Stanley around. Stan. Stan the man. Richie’s best friend. Richie had wanted to tell Stan about everything ever since he got caught up in it.

On this particular night, the urge to tell Stan was unbearable. But no matter how badly he needed his best friend’s comfort, he knew he could never tell him. That’s why when Richie finally got up off his bed and walked towards the phone on his wall, he let out a loud sigh while he started putting in Stan's number. He waited impatiently for Stan to pick up on the other end.

_ “Hello?” _ Richie held his breath at the sound of his voice. It was hoarse and there was a small groan like noise, like he had just woken up. Richie felt the smile pull on his lips when he heard the voice of his best friend, the person he had been longing to tell his tragic story ever since it started.

“Hey, Stan the man!” Richie tried to say it in a sing-song voice, but it broke halfway through his sentence. He knew Stan could hear his heavy, inconsistent breathing on the other end.

_ “Richie, what’s wrong?”  _ The concern lacing his voice only caused him to let out a choked breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to find the right words. He couldn’t tell Stan, could he? For so long Richie had kept himself closed off, so closed off that Stan was worried he was falling into a depressive state. Of course, Stan, out of all five of his friends, would be the one to notice how quiet he had gotten.

“I-I guess I just um…” he bit his lip, not knowing how to start out this crazy story. What was he supposed to say?

_ “I’m coming over.”  _ Richie let out a choked noise, needing Stan to be with him.

“Thank you.” He could hear Stan instantly hang up the phone, leaving him all alone again. He started to panic, realizing that he  _ had _ to tell Stan the truth now. The bile in his throat showed no mercy as Richie ran to the bathroom. He had barely made it to the toilet before his body gave up every bit of stomach acid it had. Richie sat beside the toilet for some time before he finally gained the energy to flush the toilet and get up to brush his teeth.

By the time he stumbled into his living room, Stan was already inside his kitchen making a bacon lettuce sandwich. Neither him nor Stan liked tomatoes, so he left that part out. Stan smiled when he saw Richie, but that smile soon turned into a frown when he took a good look at him. He knew better than to push Richie, so he went back to making the sandwiches, waiting for Richie to start talking.

“Thanks for coming over, you didn’t have to.”

“Yes I did.” Stan had a serious tone as he spoke those three words. Richie sighed and sat on his couch, Stan still in his sight. There’s a slight tension in the room, or so Richie thought. Stan was the next to break the silence once again.

“Nice jacket.” Richie sucked in a breath at the sudden realization of his leather jacket still wrapped around him. Richie knew Stan knew that he would never wear a leather jacket if he didn’t have to.

“It’s okay.” Richie knew he was giving himself away, but he couldn’t keep up this lie. Stan walked towards Richie with two plates, a sandwich on each. He gently sat down next to Richie and set the plates on the coffee table. He could see the distress on Richie’s face and that broke his heart. He loved his best friend, all he wanted for him was happiness.

“What’s wrong Rich? Talk to me.” Richie sighed and put his head on Stan’s shoulder. Stan reached his hand up to massage Richie’s scalp, brushing through his mess of curls. Richie’s thoughts were racing as he tried to force the words out. Maybe it would be easier to just say the truth and  _ then _ explain everything.

Richie wondered how Stan would react. He had been lying to his best friend for two years, what if Stan hated him for that? Richie’s stomach churned at the thought of losing his best friend over this. It’s not like Richie had a choice really, he was dragged into this mess and just had no way out. He could feel the comfort of Stan raking his hand through his hair and slightly relaxed. What was he thinking? Stan would never abandon him over something like this. Stan was the most understanding person Richie knew, other than Mike.

“I’m in a gang.” Stan stiffened when he heard the words escape from Richie’s mouth. Richie sucked in a breath and prepared for the worst; for Stan to scream at him, call him stupid, and to never talk to him again. But that never happened. Instead, Stan let out laugh. It wasn’t just any laugh either; it was a full-on wheeze-fall-onto-the-floor-roll-around-and-let-all-the-air-out-of-your-body-in-loud-giggles kind of laugh. Richie furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, wondering what he could possibly be laughing about after what he had just told him.

Once Stan contained himself, he rubbed his eyes to get rid of the tears running down his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Richie stared at him blankly for what felt like a lifetime before Stan finally spoke up. “Okay, now what’s  _ really _ wrong?”

Richie continued staring at him with a confused face. Did Stan really not believe him? Did he really think that was one of his jokes? Richie knew he joked about a lot of stuff, but he would never joke about something like this-okay maybe he would, but he wasn’t right now and that was the point.

“Stan, I’m serious. I’m in a gang.” The seriousness in his voice must have caught Stan off guard, his mouth had fallen open and he looked as white as a ghost.

“Wait, for real? Richie there’s no  _ way _ you are in a gang. You’re way too soft to be in a gang.”

“Trust me, I know I’m too soft for this shit. It wasn’t really my choice.”

“What do you mean you ‘ _ didn’t have a choice’.” _ Stan’s voice was filled with concern and he never took his eyes off Richie, whereas Richie couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye. Richie sucked in yet another breath, hoping it would stop the burning sensation in his throat. He had never really even admitted to himself that it wasn’t his fault, how the fuck was he supposed to explain it to Stan?

The backstory of why he had to join the gang was quite tragic; pathetic if you will. He didn’t want Stan’s view of him to change, yet he supposed it was too late for that. Richie leaned back into the couch, slouching down trying to make himself small. Stan joined him on the couch once again and grabbed his sandwich from the coffee table.

Richie mimicked the action and grabbed his sandwich too. He took a bite out of it and chewed in deep thought, trying to think of how he was supposed to tell him without him showing Richie any type of sympathy. He met Stan’s eyes and saw the look of concern written all over him. Richie knew he had to do this for the sake of Stan’s sanity, so he did the thing he was best at; he started talking.

“It’s a pretty long story and if I’m being honest, I don’t really know where to start.” He paused as he tried to form another sentence; one that was actually meaningful. Stan was waiting patiently for Richie to continue, not pushing him or forcing him to say anything; just sitting there waiting with a comforting smile on his face. He was forever grateful that Stan was such an easy, wise person he could talk to. Most people got cocky whenever they were giving advice, but not Stan.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me.”

“No, you deserve to know now that I’ve told you.” Stan nodded but not encouragingly, just out of understanding that this was something Richie  _ had _ to do. “I guess I’ll start from the very beginning, not me joining the gang, but how I got here.”

_ It was a late summer night in July; Richie had no idea what he was going to be doing so late, but he hadn’t wanted to go home because his grandma was visiting, and she was a nightmare to deal with. She was always nagging to Richie about his stupid mouth and how he should tame the mess of curls on his head. She also complained about him not having a job at the age of seventeen. _

_ “You have a car, the only thing stopping you is pure laziness.” She had told him, a finger poking at his chest. His mother Maggie had tried to get her to leave him alone, but her mother only cursed her out for defending such an excuse for a son. _

_ Richie had excused himself from dinner at six, it was now well past twelve. He hadn’t known where to go other than his cousin’s house. He considered going to Stan’s house, but he knew the boy had an actual sleep schedule and his parents wouldn’t appreciate him coming over so late. _

_ He slowly made his way up the long driveway of his cousin Patrick HockStetter’s house. He was an asshole, but at least he was more bearable than his grandmother. Once he made it to the door, he sighed and knocked on it, knowing his cousin would be awake. Maybe it was a family thing to be awake at all hours of the night. _

_ Sure enough, Patrick opened the door only seconds after Richie had knocked. Patrick gave Richie a confused look, knowing they weren’t exactly the best of buds. Soon enough the look of confusion turned into a shit eating grin, knowing exactly why Richie was there. _

_ “Grandma driving you a bit mad, Tozier?” _

_ “If I don’t get away from her soon, I am going to go mentally insane and ask to be admitted into a mental hospital.” Patrick let out a small laugh, and opened the door enough to let Richie through, closing the door behind him before the mosquitoes took over his house. _

_ Richie forgot how nice Patrick could be without his asshole friend Henry Bowers. Although Richie wasn’t sure if “friend” was the right word for them. Whenever Henry is teasing him Patrick blushes and gets really quiet, something that was unusual for him. Maybe that was something that ran in the family too. _

_ Patrick sat down on the couch and motioned Richie to sit. He sat down on the recliner facing Patrick, relaxing into the chair after walking around for so many hours. Patrick smiled at him and propped his legs up onto the coffee table, letting a sigh escape from his lips. _

_ “I was kinda hoping I would see you around soon,” Patrick let out a whistle. “just didn’t think it would be so soon.” _

_ Richie chuckled and shook his head “hey, you of all people should know how hard it is to deal with grandma.” Patrick nodded and stretched. “why were you hoping to see me?” _

_ Patrick suddenly stopped his movements and looked at Richie, looking as if he saw a ghost. “Well kid-” _

_ “Don’t call me that, you’re only two years older than me.” _

_ “Well kid, there is something I need you to do for me.” Richie grumbled at the nickname but let him continue without a word. “You remember Henry, right?” _

_ “How could I forget the guy who has been beating my ass for as long as I can remember?” Richie scoffed and rolled his eyes. Patrick knew very well that Richie remembered Henry; he had watched Henry beat his ass more than once during the past school year. _

_ “Well, there’s kind of an issue with him right now.” _

_ “What, did you confess your undying love for him, and he rejected you? I swear if he did I will kick his ass for once.” _

_ “No Richie, that didn’t happen because I don’t love-” _

_ “Oh, cut the shit, I know you love him.” Patrick fell silent and leaned up against the back of the couch. _

_ “Anyways… uh he-I need your help.” _

_ “Does he need my help, or do you need my help?” _

_ “We both do.” Richie shook his head and bit his lip in thought. What could they possibly need from him? He could see himself helping Patrick, but definitely  _ **_not_ ** _ Henry. _

_ “with what?” Patrick huffed and shrugged his shoulders. _

_ “You’re really not going to like it Rich, but I need you.” Richie grunted and folded his arms across his chest. _

_ “Just fucking tell me Pat.” _

_ “I need you in our gang.” _

_ Richie could feel his heart drop to his ass, his mind became clouded and the words Patrick spoke were on a loop in his brain. His eyes widened and his hands started shaking. He shook his head incredibly fast repeatedly, wondering why Patrick would even want him in his gang with Henry Bowers. _

_ “No, no Patrick I can’t- I won’t do it! I don’t belong in a gang! I could never-” _

_ “Rich listen to me; it won’t be forever, it’s only temporary. We need you for one mission and one mission only. After that, you’re free to go and never have to do anything with us ever again. Please Rich, we need you.” _

_ “Patrick no-” _

_ “If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone your secret. Even our family.” Richie felt all the air leave his lungs. Patrick wouldn’t do that, would he? Why the fuck did he ever trust Patrick enough to tell him? The only person he had ever told other than him was Stan. He had hated himself for it, it was wrong. What would his parents think? What would his friends think? Would his parents still love him? Would his friends support him? _

_ A thousand thoughts swarmed Richie’s brain as he sat silently, a look of horror on his face. Patrick grinned, knowing Richie was definitely going to agree now. He watched as Richie held back tears, shaking his head. _

_ “Patrick-” _

_ “I mean it Richie.” His voice was aggressive, and Richie knew he meant what he said. He knew there was no way out of it, so he gave in. He would rather die than tell anyone else his secret; the secret that kept him up all night wishing he were someone else. _

_ “Are you really going to make me do this?” Richie’s eyes were glossed over, and Patrick showed the tiniest bit of sympathy for a split second, but quickly changed it to anger and seriousness. _

_ “Richie, I will tell every soul on this planet about how much of a little fairy you are if you don’t do this for me.” Richie could feel the tears streaming down his face. Why the fuck did he have to be so weak? How could he let himself cry in front of Patrick of all people? While he knew there was no escaping this, he wished that Patrick would just burst out laughing, howling about how he got Richie so good. But that never happened, just like Richie knew it wouldn’t. _

_ He knew he had no choice, so with a big breath, he quietly let out the words he would regret for the rest of his life: “I’m in” _

__

Richie was shaking by the end of the story, and Stan was holding onto him for dear life, crying along with Richie. As he let out a choked sob, Stan rubbed his back, doing everything he could to comfort his best friend.

“Shh, Rich, it’s going to be okay.” After Richie calmed down again, he continued slowly eating his sandwich. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, but the suffocating feeling in his chest was still as suffocating as ever. Stan watched his every move, trying to read the boy that could never truly be read.

“What happened Rich? Why did you stay if they told you that you could leave?” Stan’s voice was soothing, preventing Richie from freaking out again.

“Yeah well, apparently once you’re in, there’s no getting  _ out. _ ” Stan furrowed his eyebrows and thought the whole situation over. It didn’t make sense to him; Patrick was Richie’s cousin? How could he do that to his own family? Someone that trusted him with their biggest secret.

“So they lied to you?”

Richie scoffed and stood up, annoyance taking over his body. “Just fucking say it Stan! Say that he tricked my dumbass into thinking that this was only a one-time thing! I mean how fucking stupid was I? How did I ever believe that you could only do one thing for a gang and just leave afterwards? I must be real fucking stupid.”

Stan shook his head and stood up, grabbing Richie’s shoulders. “Hey, listen to me! You are  _ not _ stupid! You were scared! I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes! You were scared that nobody was going to accept you, scared that people were going to throw you away after they knew the truth. What you did is completely understandable, and I am so, so sorry you had to go through that.”

Richie relaxed under Stan’s touch, letting all his words soak in. Goddammit he was real fucking lucky to have someone like Stan in his life. Richie pulled him into a hug and smiled. “Thank you. I really fucking need to hear that.” Stan chuckled and sat Richie back down. Richie curled into Stan’s side, and Stan laughed because he knew all his best friend ever wanted to do was cuddle with somebody. He couldn’t imagine seeing his best friend in a gang, he just wasn’t that type of person.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but what did they make you do for that first mission?” Richie flinched at the words and took a deep breath. There was a moment of silence between them, and it didn’t take long for Stan to realize that whatever it was, it was  _ bad _ . Richie shifted his weight to lean into Stan a bit more and concluded that Stan would understand that he  _ had _ to do it, even if it were a terrible thing to do.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened; it’s like my brain blocked it out to keep the trauma out. All I remember from that day is watching a man die.” Stan’s eyes widened and tightened his hold on Richie. “It was horrible Stan; it wasn’t even a quick death.” Richie shook as he sobbed into Stan’s shoulder, having to relive the traumatic experience.

“Hey, hey Richie it’s going to be okay. What happened bub?” Stan’s hushed tone caused yet another sob to escape from his lips. As he feared, Stan was pitying him. He didn’t need pitying, he needed people to understand that he wasn’t just going to break. He wished everyone would stop walking on eggshells around him, they never used to so why are they now? He let out a huff of air and shook his head.

“You don’t want to know.” The memory came crashing back into Richie’s brain. The flashbacks were so vivid, he could see every small detail.

_ “Come on Tozier, you’ll be fine. Just don’t fuck this up or you’re dead.” Patrick had a shit eating grin on his face as he saw the horror on his younger cousin’s face. What was Richie supposed to do? Back out now and risk being outed to the whole town? It’s not like Derry was very accepting of homosexuals. Richie shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts that swarmed his brain. What was he going to do? What could he do? What was going to happen in there? _

_ The mission was simple, at least in Patrick’s eyes. To Richie, it was mission impossible. All Richie knew was that he didn’t want to fuck up. When Patrick explained the plan to Richie, his inner thoughts were screaming at him like madmen. _

_ Richie didn’t really have to do much, but he was the most important person within the mission. When Patrick had initially walked him through the plan, it seemed like it would be easy enough, but then he really started thinking about it and realized his chances of dying were quite high. _

_ When Patrick and Henry gave him the signal to start, his heart hammered at his chest nonstop, and he was fairly sure China could hear it. He kept replaying the plan in his head, not wanting to fuck anything up because if Patrick didn’t kill him, Henry sure as hell would. _

_ Richie crept towards the house with boarded up windows. Twenty-nine Neibolt Street was as intimidating as ever. What was once a beautiful blue home of a loving family of five was now deserted with overgrown grass and broken windows. The paint had decayed with time and the house turned to an eerie dark gray color. It was the town’s local horror house. _

_ The last thing Richie was expecting that night was to end up surrounded by six horrifyingly strong men. The group didn’t take long to notice Richie, and he swears his soul left his body when he made eye contact with the leader of the group. Richie soon realized that he really was a vital part of the mission; he was the distraction. Patrick had lied to him; he wasn’t really the person who was going to gather the drugs, he was the person who was going to get his ass kicked and possibly get killed. _

_ He would never forgive Patrick for setting him up, but in all honesty, Richie thought his cousin was brilliant. Why put yourself in danger when you can make someone else do it for you? When there was a group of incredibly strong men surrounding him, all with a look on their face that showed they meant business, Richie realized something; he wasn’t ready to die. Even after the rough life he had lived through with his fucked up family, he realized he was only seventeen, and he had so much going for him. He still had all the time in the world to figure out who he was. But that looked like it was about to come to an end. _

_ Richie thought about how his friends would handle it; the comedic relief of their group being killed by a gang because of his selfish cousin who never gave a shit about him. How would his parents react? Would Maggie and Wentworth Tozier be okay without their son? They had proved his entire life that they loved him unconditionally, what would they do if their son was no longer there to bust out an accent at all the wrong times? Would his grandmother think it was a good riddance? _

_ He had never even fallen in love. He was attracted to both boys and girls; he knew that much. But he never got to experience love. Oh, how badly did he want to just be cuddling with someone he loved and loved him in that moment. He wanted someone to run their fingers through his thick head of curls and tell him everything was going to be okay; that this was all just a bad dream. _

_ It wasn’t until he was charged at that he knew he wasn’t dreaming. The force of the man running into him at full speed was enough to knock him off his feet and land on the ground with a loud thud, his head throbbing instantly after it made contact with the damp dirt. _

_ The second thing that proved to him he wasn’t dreaming was the cold, hard fist that connected with his jaw. Richie could taste the blood in his mouth from his gums, the metallic taste flooding over his taste buds. The next thing he felt was a steel-toed boot kicking into his ribcage. _

_ He couldn’t breathe. It was like all the air was kicked out of his body and locked out. His body tensed as he struggled, begging for the oxygen to return to his lungs. He felt the repeating punches to his face, the kicks to his ribs. He felt everything yet nothing at the same time. His vision became black, but only for what seemed like a millisecond. The air came rushing back into his body, shocking his burning lungs at the sudden relief. It was as if the heavens above had finally seen him suffer enough, letting his body go numb and block out the agonizing pain he was in. _

_ God’s mercy didn’t last long, and before Richie could count to two, he was being crushed by the heavy weight of the biggest man there. He sucked in a breath when he realized he had a knife at his throat, afraid to even swallow as he could feel the pressure of the knife push into his skin. He could feel the presence of blood seeping out from the small cut the knife had already created. It was thin, Richie could tell. The man wasn’t pressing into his throat enough yet for it to do any real damage. Yet. The panic set in and that’s when it hit Richie; he was going to die. There was nothing else for him to do but accept his fate. _

_ The knife pressed even harder into Richie’s skin, causing him to go completely still. He couldn’t even bring himself to shake with fear anymore; he just lied completely still. He could feel even more blood coming for the now bigger, and deeper, cut. He didn’t even have to look at the man on top of him to know that he had a satisfied smile on his face. _

_ He wondered how he got into this mess. Why him? Of all people Patrick knew, why his own cousin? Patrick. Where the fuck was he? They had to have grabbed the drugs by now, why wasn’t he out here rescuing him? _

_ “sweet dreams, pretty boy.” Was the last-and only-thing he had heard from the man. He let out a full-hearted laugh, making Richie’s stomach churn in disgust. Was this man really enjoying himself? Was he really enjoying the fact that he was about to kill a teenage boy, a literal child? Richie took what he thought would be his final breath before he felt the weight of the man fall off of him, followed by a loud gunshot. Richie gasped for breath as the men around him started running, running as fast as they possibly could to get away from the area. _

_ When Richie finally got the strength to roll over, he saw the thing that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Lying beside him was the man who was once on top of him, his eyes wide open as he struggled for air. His eyes searched the man’s body for the bullet wound-assuming he was shot-only to find blood seeping through his shirt. _

_ Richie was quick to turn around and hurl everything he had eaten that day; the bile burning his throat. He didn’t think he would have the energy to turn back around, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to get back up. It must have been a miracle-or just a case of unbelievably bad luck that day-he was able to turn around, but he immediately wished he didn’t. There the man was, gasping for breath with blood running from his mouth. Richie wished he could just disappear; he wished he could just fall into the ground and become a part of the long, thick grass that surrounded him. Of course, that wouldn’t happen, but a boy could dream. _

_ As the man started choking on his own blood, his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets and become a ghostly white. Richie could see the individual veins in his eyes; they were beat red and seemed to pop out of his eyes. He watched as the man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his gasping stopped, his chest stopped rapidly moving up and down and his body seemed to go limp. The muscles in his face visibly relaxed and even seemed to droop down; making the man seem much older than he was. In reality the man was probably only twenty years old, but with his muscles now relaxed he looked like he could be in his fifties. Richie couldn’t stop staring; his eyes were glued to the scene in front of him and he couldn’t rip his eyes away. _

_ “Hey kid, are you alright?” Richie’s eyes shot up at the sudden voice, searching for whoever it belonged to. He recognized the boy in the front yard, Richie had seen him hanging around Henry and Patrick before. Was he in the gang? Was Patrick okay? Had something gone wrong? Panic for his cousin’s safety settled in, and Richie quickly raised to his feet, being careful not to disturb the now deceased man by him. He rushed over to the boy and jumped when he noticed Henry and Patrick’s motorcycles were gone. The realization hit Richie like a truck. They were gone. They had left him. Patrick, his cousin that he cared about deeply, had left him to die. _

_ “Where are they?” Richie’s words were choked. Part of him didn’t want the boy to confirm that they had left without him, but the other part screamed that he needed to know exactly where they were so he could go confront them. They had dragged him into this mess, the least they could do was fucking drag him out. Richie was breathing heavy, his brain not being able to keep up with the events of the night. _

_ “Patrick’s. I’m sorry Richie, they saw me walking by my house and told me that they left you and you were as good as dead. They were laughing as they said it, they think you’re dead. I’m Belch, by the way.” Richie couldn’t process everything Belch had told him. How could Patrick-his own fucking cousin-leave him like that? Did it not matter to him that they were family? Richie always knew he was an asshole; but an asshole that left someone to die? He could never see Patrick doing that. Although, he never necessarily pictured Patrick in a gang either, but here he was. _

_ Richie didn’t even say thank you to Belch, who had just literally saved his life, before he started running. He ran as fast as he could, his legs burning from the sudden movement. He had never ran so fast in his life, not even when Bill had chased him around with a snake when they were twelve. Richie ran and ran and ran, he ran like his life depended on it. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he showed up at Patrick’s house, but he needed to do something. He wasn’t going to let his piece of shit cousin get away with it that easily. He was going to go barging in and give them a piece of his fucking mind. _

_ When Richie arrived at Patrick’s, he was furious. The anger coursed through his veins, causing his fists to tighten and his jaw to clench. He didn’t even bother knocking, instead he opened the door wide open and barged in. He had no idea where his sudden confidence came from, and to be fair he didn’t want to know where it came from. Part of him knew it came from what he had just been though, how mad it had made him that they had left him for dead. _

_ “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Richie practically screamed when he walked into the living room. “I fucking trusted you! You fucking lied to me!” his face was beat red, and he could see both Patrick and Henry’s shocked faces. Patrick’s face quickly turned into a look of satisfaction. _

_ “Well, it sure looks like you shouldn’t have.” Patrick smirked and Henry chuckled. What the fuck was wrong with them? Turns out they weren’t just assholes; they were literal fucking psychopaths. Richie let out a manic laugh, causing them both to stiffen. _

_ “You, you are a piece of fucking shit. I can’t wait to tell the cops what happened tonight, I cannot wait to see your face when you get arrested. I can’t wait to watch Henry’s father arrest both of your pathetic asses. Oh, how good that will feel.” Richie snarled through gritted teeth, the anger inside of him boiling over. Henry quickly stood, his face as red as a tomato and his jaw clenched. He looked as if he were about to lunge at Richie, despite his already bloody face and neck. He could still feel some blood dripping from his neck, but he ignored it. Patrick quickly stood up and stuck his arm out in front of Henry, stopping him from moving any closer. _

_ “Listen here bichie, you’re not going to tell anyone about this. And you know what, you’re even going to be joining us on even more missions. I’m impressed that you’re still alive, so I think you’ll be sticking around a little while longer. You better keep your fucking mouth shut or else I’ll kill you myself.” Patrick walked towards Richie until he was face to face with him. “Is that clear?” Richie’s confidence had completely left his body, and he found himself shaking underneath Patrick’s stare. His eyes were stone cold, and Richie wanted nothing more than to run out of the house and never see him again. _

_ “Is that fucking clear?” Patrick was screaming at this point, not being able to contain his anger. He had  _ **_no_ ** _ right being the angry one. He was the one that left Richie, not the other way around. But, what could Richie possibly do? Patrick was much, much stronger than him and definitely wouldn’t show any mercy in a fight-he proved that tonight by fucking abandoning him, he clearly didn’t care about him at all. What would Richie do in a fight anyway? Lose. He would fucking lose. He took a deep breath and nodded in defeat. _

_ This was it; this was his new life. He walked out the door that night in shame, shame and fear. He had no idea if Patrick was being serious about him joining the gang, but he prayed he wasn’t. As Richie walked home on the dirt roads of Derry, he kicked pebbles as he slightly dragged his feet. He found a big rock to kick and kept with it for the next mile; following it wherever it went. _

_ What the fuck was he going to do? _

__

“So yeah, that’s about it.” Richie sighed and leaned his head on the back of the couch. He was exhausted from telling the story yet relieved to get it off his chest after weighing him down for two years. He was glad he told Stanley, but the look on his face made him anxious. He had a blank look; he wasn’t showing any signs of emotion and that worried Richie. Stan was never really one to show off his emotions, but he always had this soft look on his face, even if he acted like he was a stone-cold bitch.

The silence lingered between them for a few minutes; Richie fiddling with his fingers and Stan staring blankly at him, barely even blinking. Eventually, Stan made a weird gesture with his head to signify that he had just realized something.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Richie raised an eyebrow and Stan brought his hands up by his face, open palms facing Richie and slightly angled down. “You’re telling me… that you almost fucking died?” Richie laughed and Stan looked like he had just been punched in the gut. “What the fuck Rich!” he was yelling now, and he jumped up from his place on the couch. He started pacing, his hands going wild in crazy gestures. “You. Almost. Fucking. Died!” Richie stopped laughing and stood up, grabbing onto Stan’s shoulders when he passed by him.

“Stan, hey calm down.”

“I am fucking calm!” Stan was still yelling, he looked more shocked than angry, and Richie could understand why. I mean, he just found out that his best friend was almost killed by a man because his bitch cousin had to be selfish. Richie tightened his grip on Stan’s shoulders, softly squeezing them.

“Stan, listen to me. I know it sounds bad-”

“Bad? Bad! You think it sounds  _ bad?”  _ Stan grabbed Richie’s hands and threw them off him, he was starting to get pissed and Richie was unsure of who exactly he was pissed at. Maybe him, maybe Patrick, maybe Henry. Richie just wasn’t sure.

“I almost lost my best fucking friend! Don’t you understand that? I almost fucking lost you!” Stan lightly hit Richie’s chest, but with enough power to send him stumbling back. He had never seen Stan like this, and he desperately needed him to calm down. He doesn’t know how many times he had broken down in front of Stan, but he had _never_ _once_ seen Stan break down in front of him. Stan was reserved, whereas Richie needed constant comfort and reassurance. It probably made him seem needy, but his insecurities often swallowed him alive and his walls he had built over the years could only handle so much. He was sure he had broken down in front each and every one of his friends at least once.

“That wasn’t the part I wanted you to focus on!” Richie knew it was the wrong choice of words, but the anxiety inside him turned off all of his common sense. honestly, there wasn’t too much to even turn off.

“What part was I supposed to focus on? How could you not expect me to focus on the part that you almost  _ died _ ?” There were tears streaming down Stan’s face, and Richie’s heart shattered at the sight. Why didn’t he just leave that part out? He was sure he could’ve thought of a lie to get to the part he had originally wanted to be the main focus.

“I meant for you to focus on the part where I watched a man die, I guess I should have left the part about me-”

“So you just weren’t going to tell me? You were going to keep that from me! I have a right to know!” Stan’s fists were balled, his knuckles had gone completely white from the force of him squeezing his hands shut. He wasn’t even trying to hide his anger anymore; his mouth was in a deep frown and his eyebrows were furrowed while his nose was scrunched. If Richie was being completely honest, Stan somehow became even prettier than he was before. Stan had always been blessed with looks; Richie was well aware of that. But seeing him now with his jawline sharper than ever, structuring his face beautifully, Richie would call his best friend hot in a second. It’s not like Richie had feelings for his best friend. In fact, Richie looked to Stanley as a brother.

“Stan I know you’re mad at me right now, but please calm down.” Stan shook his head rapidly, new tears replacing the old ones. He stood still for a moment, breathing heavily to regulate it again. His face relaxed, almost to the point where it was soft. Richie thought it was finally over, that they could sit back down and have a civil conversation. Stan’s breathing became normal again and the tears stopped, allowing Richie to put his guard down. It was over. The two boys made eye contact; Richie’s eyes softer than a feather and Stan’s filled with concern. The sight of his best friend in so much pain tore Stan to shreds. Richie meant everything to him and all he wanted was for him to have all the happiness in the world. He couldn’t help feeling angry again, and something inside of him finally snapped.

Richie cursed at his false sense of security when Stan pushed past him and stomped towards the door like a man on a mission. He quickly turned around and tried to grab Stan, but he was already out the door by the time he fully did turn around. Damn, that boy could move when he wanted to. Richie scurried out the door in order to catch up with Stan, only to see he was already down the road. The thing was he wasn’t running to the left like he would if he were running to any of the losers, and if he had gone right, he would have just taken a left at the upcoming road he just passed. Where the hell was he going? Richie suddenly stopped, the realization smacking him across the face. He wouldn’t, would he?

Richie broke out in a sprint, panic racking throughout his body. He needed to reach Stanley before he put himself in danger. He knew Stan could be protective; but putting his life at risk just for Richie blew his mind. He couldn’t believe Stan was going to confront Patrick. What if Henry was there with him? Stan was as good as dead if both psychopaths were there. Richie worried he wouldn’t be able to catch up to Stan in time; both boys were sprinting now, and Stan had a good head start on Richie. Richie’s heart pounded inside of his chest, allowing him to hear it clearly.

Richie pumped his legs even harder, the adrenaline finally kicking in. He knew he had to stop Stan; he couldn’t allow his best friend to get hurt all because of him. Richie was supposed to protect him, not put him in danger. That’s how their friendship worked. They protected each other. It didn’t matter what was happening or what happened, they protected each other at all costs. And while that was what Stan was doing right now, Richie couldn’t let him. He needed to protect Stan from protecting him. If he wasn’t careful, Patrick might manipulate Stan into joining the gang; more like manipulate him into the gang.

“Stan! Wait!” Richie managed to scream out into the night. His lungs burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on them. The burning sensation would usually bother him, making him stop almost immediately; the feeling of not being able to breathe being all too familiar from every run Patrick had forced him on, making him run for his life at certain times. This, this was nothing compared to what the gang made him do.

Stan started slowing down, but he never stopped. He was still running incredibly fast, but now as fast as before. Richie ran with everything he had in him, desperate to stop him. The muscles in his legs were on fire, begging him to stop. He couldn’t stop now though; Stan was only thirty feet ahead of him. Richie feared that he wouldn’t catch up to him in time, as Patrick’s house was now less than a quarter of a mile away.

With Stan’s progressive slowing down, and Richie only gaining speed, he had finally gotten close enough to Stan to grab a hold of his arm and pull him back. Their bodies crashed together sending them both flying back onto the hard pavement. The dirt road leading to Patrick’s just in front of them haunted Richie; he felt as if he was reliving the night that he wished never existed. Richie would  _ kill _ to take that night back, to erase it from existence. If that night had never happened, he wouldn’t even be in this mess right now.

Stan struggled to get free of Richie’s grasp, but Richie wouldn’t budge. They both sat up, gasping for breath. Stan continued to try and wiggle out of Richie’s grasp, but Richie wrapped his arm around his waist tightly, bringing Stan’s back into his chest.

“Let me go Richie!” Stan was scratching at his arms, trying to get him to at least loosen his grip enough so he could escape and continue his mission. He was furious again, wanting to just go beat the shit out of Patrick and get it over with. He wanted to demand that Richie was let out of the gang and demand that this was all just in the past, not the present or the future. Stan knew it was just wishful thinking, but he still needed to try. Richie was too soft to be in a gang! He was going to get killed. For fuck’s sake he almost was on his first night!

“Stan I can’t do that, and you know it! Please, please just calm down and stop this! There’s nothing you can do; this is who I am now.” He knew there was nothing he could do, but dammit if there was even the slightest possibility of getting him out of this he sure as hell was going to try. “Stan, listen to me! You are going to end up hurting me more if you get involved. And more importantly  _ you _ could get hurt. I could never forgive myself if I let you go.”

Stan sighed in defeat, letting himself relax into Richie’s body. He knew Richie wasn’t going to budge, he was impossibly stubborn, and he knew everything would just be easier if he let it go. But, yet again Stan was also a stubborn bitch and didn’t like being told what to do. Stan thought about wiggling to an angle where he could jab his elbow into Richie’s side, and he did just that. Richie let out a groan at the stabbing pain. Stan took action the second Richie’s grip loosened and successfully pulled out of his grasp. He was about to take off running again, but Richie quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down with his left hand, while still holding his side where Stan had brutally attacked him with his right.

“Richie you have to let me do this.” Richie was getting tired of his bullshit, but he knew this was partly his fault. He never should have told Stanley. He should have just kept his fucking mouth shut like he did for two years. Richie knew the stress would eventually eat him alive if he hadn’t told anyone, and it would probably be sooner than later, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty about telling Stan. He should have just let the stress eat him up and spit him out like he was its bitch.

“Stan I can’t let you get hurt. Please just-just listen to me, okay?” He could hear Stan grumble under his breath, but he ignored it. He had gotten used to his stubbornness a long time ago. “Stan, if you do this, you could get really hurt. There’s a possibility that  _ you _ will get dragged into this and go down with me. You have too much potential in life, you can’t let yourself get involved in this. I did this to myself.”

“You didn’t do this to yourself though, you were practically forced into it. Please Rich, you have to let me do something.” Richie shook his head, avoiding Stan’s pleading eyes. The last thing Richie needed was to give into Stan and create an even bigger mess.

“I would like it if you would just drop it and go home.” Stan gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded. Richie was taken by surprise when he actually had stood up, brushing his pants off and straightening the collar to his shirt. Richie smiled at him and got up, finally feeling like he could breathe again. He was scared that Stan would take off running again, but he never did; he just stood there looking off in the distance.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispered, a sad look on his face. “I won’t meddle, and I won’t tell anyone. Just promise me one thing.” Richie nodded and tilted his head, motioning for Stan to go on. He wanted to just go home and go to bed; tonight was too exhausting for him to handle. “I need you to promise me you won’t die-”

“Stan, you know I can’t promise that.”

“But I  _ need _ you to promise me. Even though I can’t do anything about it, I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to you.  _ Please _ Rich, promise me.” Richie sighed and grabbed Stan’s face, looking into his eyes with nothing but sorrow. Promises were important to Richie; he treated them as if they were some sacred thing that could never be broken. He couldn’t remember the last time he had broken a promise; if ever. As worried as he was that he wasn’t going to be able to keep this promise, he couldn’t refuse his best friend. He couldn’t let Stan go home and worry about him, all because he didn’t promise him this one thing. He needed him to be okay.

“I promise.” It was only two words, but those two words were enough to get Stan to relax and take a deep breath. He nodded and Richie watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Richie thought the interaction would be over now, but apparently Stan had other plans. Stan swiftly opened his arms and tackled Richie in a hug, a hug with so much force that they almost completely fell back. Richie stood frozen, not knowing what to do. Stan never showed affection through touch; it was mainly through aggressive insults.

Richie’s brain finally caught up with the moment and tentatively wrapped his arms around Stan. The noodle headed boy stuck his head on his shoulder, squeezing Richie with an unhuman-like force. Richie sighed and lightly squeezed back, breathing in Stan’s welcoming scent. He somehow always smelled like nature; Richie never really knew why. Maybe it was because he did a lot of bird watching and wanted to blend in, or maybe it was because that’s where he felt at home.

When the pair finally parted, Stan smiled at Richie and walked away from him, leaving him alone in the cool night. Richie watched as he walked away, taking calm, composed steps. If Richie hadn’t known better, he would have thought Stan didn’t have a care in the world. But Richie did know better, and he knew it was taking everything in him to not make a run for it and finally get his way.

Stan never would though. Their friendship contained an invisible line that neither dared to cross, leaving it to be the unspoken rule of their friendship. They always knew where that line was, and neither ever attempted to cross it. Richie-being the dumbass he is and always will be- thought that tonight would be no different; Stan had backed off from the line and that was the end of it, just like always.

The thing is, there was no line to cross that night. In fact, Richie was the only one unaware of that. Stan could see right through his best friend; he could see how badly he had wanted to escape everything. Whenever Stan looked him in the eyes, he saw the lack of emotion: the lack of hope.

Richie gazed up at the stars, watching as they sparkled in the dark night sky. His thoughts were incoherent. A cloud had come to rest over his brain, blocking everything out. He found himself wishing Stan was back, already feeling the deprivation of affection. It was at that moment that Richie Tozier realized he needed a hug. But not just any hug; a hug from someone who wanted nothing but pure bliss for him. Richie needed a hug from someone that made his stomach do flips and his heart flutter; he needed someone who would cherish everything about him, taking in all of his flaws but only seeing them as beauty. But most of all, Richie just wanted to be somebody to someone. Yeah, his friends were great, and they made him feel like he had a place in life, but he didn’t  _ matter _ to them.

Maybe it was his insecurities talking, maybe it was just the truth, but Richie knew they would all move on if something happened to him. Sure, they would grieve for a while and be in a whole lot of pain, but they would move on. They would move on with their lives and do great things, maybe even forget that he ever existed; that he was just some imaginary friend. While he would want them to move on, the thought of them being able to sent a pang to his chest. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, but it wasn’t alone anymore. He could feel the suffocation of his heart; it felt as if his heart were a walking person and some stranger just walked up to him and started choking him. That’s how he felt. The need to gasp for air as his vision became blurred, unable to focus on anything around him.

Richie released a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut as they stung with tears. Maybe he didn’t really have a place in life, maybe he just existed. The truth was there would be little to no impact on the world around him if he disappeared. The world would keep moving, not stopping for a second. There would be no world-wide mourning, or even a big funeral. There would only be his parent’s friends and family that he had no idea existed. But maybe that was for the best. Wouldn’t it be selfish of him to want the world to mourn? Wouldn’t it be selfish to want people to be sad?

When Richie got back home, he had collapsed on his bed and wanted nothing more than to just stop existing. It wasn’t that he wanted to die, he just wanted to feel something.  _ Anything. _ The more he thought about his life and where everything went to shit, he just wanted to go back in time and stop himself from doing just one thing. If he had just never told Patrick about his sexuality then maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe he would be out in California, laying on the beach thinking about how awesome he was.

But he was in Derry, and there was nothing he could do. If he ran, he would not only leave everyone behind, but he would also put everyone he loved in danger. They didn’t deserve to be put in danger because of his actions. This was his fault, he had to handle it on his own.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the bed. He could feel his forever tense muscles starting to relax. He prayed he didn’t have to do anything tomorrow; he had just gotten done with helping Patrick stash all of his money so the likeliness of him being needed tomorrow was quite low. But Patrick was also highly unpredictable. One minute he could say he doesn’t need you ever again and the next you’re practically saving his life (without ever thinking that he would do the same for you, of course.) and the next he’s back to cursing you out, telling you he could handle it.

For the first time since he could remember, Richie felt himself at peace as he drifted to sleep. He wasn’t necessarily happy, but he wasn’t struggling to breathe either. He was finally content, and he felt alive again. He just wished he felt a little more. He still craved the euphoria he used to get when he was around his friends. He wanted to feel that around them again.

When Richie woke up at eight in the morning to his phone ringing, he knew he was in some deep shit. He had only gotten about two hours of sleep, and his head was pounding. Who the fuck would be calling him this early? All of his friends knew he never got up before eleven. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached out for the phone on the wall.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy, riddled with sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he shifted the phone so it wasn’t too close to his mouth, letting himself swallow a few times to get rid of the feeling of being dehydrated. His throat was scratchy, and his eyes felt swollen (probably from crying in his sleep, but he would never admit that to anyone.) and he could tell they were red.

_ “Tozier. My house. Now.” _ Patrick’s voice was like a slap to the face. It was stern and full of venom, and he almost seemed angry at  _ him. _ Before Richie could even think of responding, Patrick had already hung up. He groaned and slammed his head against the wall, only to groan again because now his head was fucking throbbing.

He threw on the nearest shirt and slipped on the black jeans that rested on his desk chair. He knew he had to get to Patrick’s that instant, or he was as good as dead. Maybe it was the overbearing fear he had of Patrick, or the respect he had for the sociopath that somehow acted like everything was going perfect and he was a ray of sunshine in front of adults. That’s why Richie’s parents never believed him when he said Patrick was bullying him; the Patrick they had met would never do that. They were right, he was a good actor and the Patrick they knew never would do anything short of caring for Richie. But Richie had gotten to know the real Patrick. The Patrick that sent shivers down his spine whenever he raised his voice, or his abusive hand.

When Richie got in his car, he sat still for a moment, thinking. Thinking about how he could just drive right past Patrick’s house and get the fuck out of Derry, but he also knew that would be impossible. It would hurt everyone around him too much; physically and mentally. So, he put his car in reverse and backed out of his driveway, driving like a madman to Patrick’s house to make up for the lost time.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walked into the house, but it sure as hell wasn’t Stan sitting on the couch with his head between his shoulders, hands covering his face with Henry towering over him, giving poor Stan a death stare. The next thing he didn’t expect was for Belch and Victor to be there, practically surrounding him the instant he walked through the door.

He hadn’t caught sight of Patrick, and that had worried him. The anger in his voice on the phone was enough to make Richie shit himself, he had no idea what he would do if he had to  _ see _ the anger on his face. He heard shuffling from the kitchen and could only assume it was Patrick grabbing a knife to slit his fucking throat for telling anyone anything.

When Patrick appeared in front of Richie, he looked oddly calm. He was holding an orange in his hand and looked like he was about to peel it so he could have a healthy breakfast. It was too weird, Patrick didn’t make  _ good _ decisions, and he definitely didn’t make healthy ones either. But needless to say, Richie did  _ not _ expect Patrick to throw the orange full force directly at Richie’s fucking face. It had made direct contact with his nose and holy shit did it hurt. He could feel a trickle of blood dripping from it as he mourned for his poor nose, and he wondered how an orange could hurt that much.

Looking up from his hands that were now covered in blood, he saw nothing but fury. Patrick was trying not to go full caveman on him, and it was a definite struggle. He raised his hand to his chin and shook his head, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Tozier.”

“Hockstetter.”

“You, you are in some deep shit.”

“I knew it.” Patrick grabbed Richie’s arm and sat him down on the couch facing Stan-who looked morbidly terrified-with force. He stood in front of him and sighed, wanting nothing more than to smack the living hell out of Richie.

“So, what in the world made you think it was okay to just go off and tell bird boy here about us, hm?” Patrick’s voice was intimidating, mocking. Richie sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Patrick raised his finger. “Nope, I don’t actually care.”

Richie was really stupid enough to think he didn’t care about him telling Stan, but only for a second. “What I do care about is not knowing who else you have told, or who else he will tell. You owe me Tozier, big time.” Richie nodded and gulped, knowing he was really,  _ really _ going to regret telling Stan anything.

“What exactly do I owe you?” Richie tried to sound confident, but it came out more scared than anything. He knew Patrick didn’t show mercy, and he wasn’t about to start now. Patrick was smiling ear to ear, but not in a happy way. He was smiling in a disturbing, evil way.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, and his hands were clamming up.

“I need you to kill someone for me.” Richie’s heart dropped. He swears the earth stopped rotating completely. Out of the corner of his eye, over Patrick’s shoulder, he could see Stan was just as scared, and he was most definitely shitting himself just like Richie. Out of all the things Richie could think of Patrick to make him do, he  _ never _ thought those words would leave his mouth. He had only seen a mission go wrong and end with someone dead one night, and that was his very first.

“Patrick, I-I’m not ki-killing Stan.” He was stuttering, and he was sure Bill would be proud as fuck hearing him, finally being able to make fun of Richie for stuttering, not the other way around. Patrick shook his head and scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Not bird boy, another boy your age.” Richie furrowed his eyebrows, thinking of who Patrick could possibly be talking about.

“Then who?” His voice was quiet, barely audible. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do it, but god damn if it was going to save Stan’s life, he was sure as hell going to try.

“A boy. Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and I will be updating as soon as I can! I love reading comments as it keeps me motivated so please don't hesitate to do so!


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